At the bank? It was my turn to sigh. Poor Henry. Poor doomed, cheerful Henry.
Unless. I had saved Fanny from choking. Maybe I could save his bank. A bank failure often hinged as much on a loss of confidence as on the reality of its financial state; a timely infusion of liquidity might make all the difference. The bank collapse meant not only Henry’s personal ruin, but also the loss of everything his brothers had invested with him. Their support kept Chawton Cottage running, so the crash reverberated through Jane’s life too; it is one of the stresses thought to have contributed to the onset of her fatal illness. Maybe helping out his bank would buy her a few more years, even if it meant I could never diagnose her disorder. Enough to finish “Sanditon”? For if we had disrupted the probability field, maybe it would be better to make the best of it: we could be a force for good, and heroes to the entire Austen family.
He was continuing: “I hesitate to speak, with this sword of Damocles hanging over my head. And yet, knowing you will leave London soon, I must.”
But he did not. He fell silent long enough for the conference on the sofa to break up and for Fanny to yield to the requests of Jane and Mr. Haden, and sit down at the harp.
“There is a new song I have been working on with my music master,” she said. “I play it remarkably ill.”
“You will let us be the judge,” her aunt said, and Fanny struck the harp, accompanying herself vocally. She had a pleasant if forgettable voice, on key at least.
I was not really listening; I looked back at Henry. I felt his awkwardness and pitied him—it’s embarrassing to ask for money. “Please, do not hesitate to speak of whatever troubles you.”
“I think you cannot fail to understand what troubles me,” he finally said, so quietly I had to lean in a little to hear him. Our eyes met. “You, with your remarkable penetration.”
I stared at him as he went on, still quietly, but speaking faster: “I do not dare to ask if the feeling is returned; this would be the height of presumption. I would ask only, can you give me leave to hope?”
He wasn’t asking for a loan. I stood frozen, mouth open slightly, as self-satisfaction with my own intended generosity faded to astonishment. Our plan had succeeded too well. What was I going to do now?
“May I call on you tomorrow?” he whispered.
“Yes” came out before I could think better of it.
CHAPTER 10
NOVEMBER 15
33 Hill Street
MY THOUGHTS KEPT ME AWAKE UNTIL DAWN. WAS IT POSSIBLE I’d misunderstood, and Henry was going to ask for a loan? Or could it be something else I hadn’t even thought of? In Preparation we’d devoted surprisingly little attention to the possibility of a proposal, despite the emphasis on my playing a role in which this would seem a risk. But then, we’d been chosen, among other things, for our ability to improvise. It was time to show what I was made of.
After I finally fell asleep, I woke up late and devoted special attention to my hair and clothing. Downstairs I found the breakfast parlor empty, one place set, and summoned handsome Robert to request coffee and rolls.
“Has my brother gone out?”
“He called for the carriage and left a short while ago.”
Perhaps just as well; another problem I’d not resolved was whether to tell Liam what had happened. “Do you know where he went?”
“He did not tell me, madam. I can ask if Jencks knows.”
I had a brief pang at the freedom of men to go where they wanted, without notice. “Nay, do not trouble yourself.”
I GOT THROUGH BREAKFAST, THOUGH MY MOUTH WAS DRY AND Mrs. Smith’s rolls, normally delicious, might have been sawdust. Back upstairs, I brushed my teeth with my marshmallow-root stick and coral tooth powder; the last thing I needed was bad breath.
In the drawing room, I forced myself to work on a shirt, trying to match my breathing to the in and out of the needle, and to empty my mind. I’d never taken Liam up on his offer to show me how to train my thoughts so as to fall asleep—a skill that would have been handy last night. Only last week I’d barged into his room, but already it seemed to belong to a lost world, filed under things I’d never do again, for I was on my guard now always. Giving away nothing. Was this how he went through life, then? How could he stand it?
From downstairs, I heard a knock on the door, but even before I looked to see the familiar curricle stopped outside, I knew it was Henry.
HE WALKED IN LOOKING SERIOUS. “MISS RAVENSWOOD.”
“I am afraid you have missed my brother, sir; I expect him back shortly.”
I had put down my sewing and stood up when he came in; we were in the middle of the room, closer than normal social distance.
“It is principally you I am come to see. I think you cannot fail to understand that.” His hands were clasped; he brought them up to his heart. He was looking down at me, hazel eyes bright and for once without the slightest glint of humor. “Nearly from the first moment I met you, I felt there was something—something different about you, unlike anyone I have ever known. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I desire and love you.”
I felt dizzy; my heart was pounding so madly that I had a sense it must be visibly throbbing. I could not resist glancing down at myself, to find the spectronanometer on its silver chain resting quietly between my breasts. My ticket home.
“You are silent,” he said, taking my hand in two of his. “May I take that to mean”—to my astonishment, he dropped to one knee—“that you will consider making me the happiest of men?”
I stared down at him. Time seemed to expand, the light in the room to acquire weight, as if we’d stepped into a Vermeer painting. I wondered if Jencks might be listening at the keyhole, or what would happen if Liam should come home and walk in. Then I stopped wondering those things as something shifted inside me like a slow grinding of tectonic plates, but scarier; I felt the role I was playing take over and swallow me. I was having the conversation that could determine the course of my life: whether to take this man in holy matrimony, hand over to him my fortune, my fate. It was terrifying. What if he actually loved me and was not merely after my money, what was my responsibility then? What was I to do? How did people know?
“You must give me time to think,” I tried to say, but my words came out in a whispery gasp. Still holding my hand, he leaned in, pulling me closer.
“I did not hear you, sweet angel.”